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bits-and-babs · 11 months

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 — 𝐒𝐈𝐌𝐎𝐍 ‘𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓’ 𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐘

synopsis : photographs from a gangland crime scene just beyond mexico's border send ghost into a spiral. as his superior, you feel it is your duty to bring him down from delirium by any means necessary.

pairing: simon ‘ghost’ riley x f!reader (colonel)

warnings : 18+ mdni. heavy use of the canon comics, gory imagery, mentions of torture, brainwashing, corpses. ptsd, delusions, simon in a submissive headspace. d/s themes, softdomme!reader, praise kink if you squint, oral (f receiving), fingering, cumming in pants, i wanted to write simon as a sub so i fucking did. please note this is a fic about using sex to navigate trauma. it will not be for everyone.

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He's like a spectre in the back of the briefing room, his shadow looming over the gory photographs spattered over the table and smothering the map beneath them. Snapshots of gruesome, twisted corpses reflect in the honey liquid of his irises, his usually expressive eyes made mute by the ghastliness of the savaged bodies.

Ghost's vast frame appears to shrink the longer he gazes at the glossy, printed pictures.

Price continues his mission briefing. His forgotten cigar smoulders in the cigarette dish placed haphazardly over the map, ashes building an eminence of embers on the glass platter. His tar-drenched lungs rasp as he talks, gritty voice booming as it ricochets from the walls in the tiny box room.

"Intel confirms a congregation of armed cartel members just beyond the Mexican borde-…."

Leaning against the wall, Ghost's shadow retreats from the tabletop and slinks back into the corner. He crosses his arms over his vast chest, charcoal grey fleece sleeves pushed to his elbows to expose the ebony ink scrawled across his chalky skin. His scarred knuckles bleach when he tightens his grip on his bicep, silently stewing in his own conviction.

He knows.

It's as though you can see them play like a film reel in his gilded irises, flickers of his trauma in Mexico. Ghost's file had been heavily redacted during your time as his equal, reams and reams of black ink ribbons distorting the writing and camouflaging his colourful history. Serving alongside him, you learnt that the SAS Lieutenant approached conversation similarly, censoring himself by remaining relatively silent.

Since your promotion to Colonel, you had gained access to transparent files and learnt precisely why Simon' Ghost' Riley kept mum about his time in Coahuila… You'd seen those gnarly scars, pink and magenta and silver welts that raised or gouged into the porcelain of his pale skin. Yet, the answer to your concerned queries was always a singular, gentle remark. "Classified."

Ghost's attempted brainwashing and the ultimate death sentence were confidential. He'd never told you that the scent of the decaying body of his Judas commanding officer, Vernon, had clung to the walls of his nasal cavities for weeks after escaping the coffin. Never revealed the way his hand sunk into the putrefying corpse when he attempted to break his way out of the casket. Wouldn't admit to ripping the jawbone from the rotting carcass to pry open the lid.

His reason for convalescent leave was also confidential. Extreme temper-management difficulties handing the vulnerable Ghost over to ex-teammates Sparks and Washington and the conclusive massacre of his entire family. Three generations, blown away with a bullet through the skull.

And the man at the centre of it all, Manuel Roba, stared back at him in the pictures of horrid, mangled, ripped flesh littering the table and pinned to the map. Puncture wounds from being elevated on meat hooks, emaciated following daily meals of mind-altering drugs––

"Riley."

Ghost's honeyed eyes dart from their fixated aim on the pictures towards Price. Concern furrows the Captain's brow as he observes Ghost's self-preserving body language. "You hearin' me?"

"Loud and clear, sir," Ghost's gruff voice rattles like gravel in his chest. His eyes appear hollow through the gaps in his ski mask, black grease paint making him look particularly gaunt.

It's a split second, momentary, but Price casts a precautionary glance your way. You know that expression, can translate the concerned crevices on John's face; he knows.

"... Good Hunting," Captain Price issues his dismissal, pointed looks urging the members of 141 out of the room quickly. The rubber soles of your boots stay rooted to the floor, gaze set on Ghost as the task force leave the conference single file. The Mancunian doesn't budge, his eyes aimed at their target on the table.

It takes a handful of moments, Gaz and Soap gawping over the brutal torture details and Price urging them both with an insistence to 'shut up' that was far too authoritative for them to ignore. Then, finally, the door swings shut, clicking in place. Ghost blinks at the sound, a minute, barely there flinch that wouldn't register with outsiders, but you notice it.

Silence creeps through the room and settles between you like a blanket of gunpowder, charged and ready to blow. Ghost's body is tense, oddly postured in an attempt to retain his intense emotions.

"Ghost." You say his codename, and immediately he moves his head in a slight shake—a silent urge for quiet. He pushes his back from the wall, slowly approaching the table he had glared at for hours.

"It's him, isn't it? Roba," Ghost's voice is tight with fury, those gravel pieces sounding a lot more like glass shards, "He's come back."

You watch, lungs seizing behind your ribcage when you hear him speak Manuel Roba's name. The vile man had lived like a ghoul amongst Simon's memories, fictitious as long as he remained unmentioned. Talking of him was almost like speaking the behemoth into existence.

"I know you read the file, Colonel," Ghost spits through gritted teeth, reaching forward to pinch a photograph from the table. You see it, the almost imperceptible tremor in his fingers as he does. "He did this to us- Strung us up like pig carcasses-"

"I understand that you're scared-" You begin your attempt to ease the spiral that Ghost appears to be silently falling into, his almost normal outward appearance betrayed only by microscopic symptoms of panic.

"I'm not," he insists, agitation edging his tone of voice as he holds up the image of a gutted corpse, "I'm not scared; you're all tip-toein' around this like I'm fuckin' stupid!"

"Riley."

The use of Ghost's surname makes the hulking mass of man stop in his tracks. He swallows the words he holds on his tongue, realising his disrespect to a commanding officer should not, and would not, be tolerated under any circumstance.

Stepping forward, you gaze right back at the shell-shocked man before you. "Manuel Roba is dead. You killed him. You know this. Shot him right between the eyes."

You demonstrate the bullet trajectory by tapping between your eyebrows with your index finger, triggering a visual for the shaken Ghost to project the image of the slaughtered drug dealer. "The bodies you're seeing are probably a result of his control over the Zaragoza Cartel. Remnants of his fighters lashing out in a last-ditch effort to obtain some power."

Ghost nods slightly, a singular tilt forward of his head as his hand lowers to his side, fingers loosening their hold on the gory picture so it falls to the ground. He clears his throat awkwardly, eyes following the path of the image as he casts his gilded irises to the floor. You note how vulnerable he looks, flayed raw by his memories and the stalking PTSD that had gripped him without detection.

"You're right. 'M sorry," he lets out a shaky sigh, chest trembling as he attempts to expel the tension in his chest, "Don't know what I was thinkin'."

You dismiss his embarrassment with a wave of your hand. "Don't mention it."

"How much do you know?" Ghost asks, the question uttered in a whisper.

You consider his query carefully. A good question. How much did you know? Had the files revealed the total of Ghost's catastrophic timeline from Mexico to Manchester? Or was there still unforeseen information hidden behind censorship walls that even you couldn't worm your way behind at this high a rank?

You're careful in your choice of words, attempting to curb any particular language that could trigger upsetting recollections. "I know Roba used to brainwash you. Drug you. Make you fight."

"And?" Simon urges you onwards, his aureate irises staring coldly at you through the blackness of the grease paint and mask–– awaiting the agonising stab of the truth.

"He used to offer sex or death as a means of control." You carefully place your palm against his shoulder, a warm and weighty presence to help ground him as you speak. "Attempted to hardwire your brain to find arousal in fear."

Ghost swallows. You see the bob of his Adam's apple beneath the thick material of the ski mask. A minuscule quiver of his eyebrow indicates his inner turmoil, the usually composed and inscrutable Lieutenant Riley slipping away as you peel away each layer of his trauma.

"Do you still? Find arousal in fear?"

Silence twists your stomach; Ghost's incessant, piercing stare causes the hairs on your forearms to stand up.

"On your knees, Riley."

"Yes, ma'am."

Simon sinks to his knees, slow and deliberate, in a latent attempt to please you. It's as though Everest has crumbled, its foundations bending beneath its enormous weight. Simon is an unshakeable force, an indomitable summit, yet when his patellas hit the floor, his giant palms meet the edges of your thighs in reverence for you.

His touch is precious and delicate with its weight–– not as though he's afraid he'll break you, but more like he's trying so hard to earn your favour as his superior. His blonde lashes dip low, heavy-lidded, unable to stand looking at your face when he's laid bare for you like this.

"Please." When Simon speaks, it's as though the cocktail of gravel and glass shards has excoriated the walls of his throat. It's broken, choked and pitchy as he begs you. "Please."

"Please what, Simon?" You query, maintaining an even, commanding tone. His eyelashes flutter slightly, trembling so prettily for you as arousal floods his spine.

"Please, ma'am. Can I be of service?" It's spoken through his gritted teeth as though he's mortified that he's voicing these torrid desires, even in the vaguest terms. You slip your naked palm beneath the woven canvas of his mask, clutching his jaw and forcing his face upwards.

It's amusing, you think, that Simon believes himself unreadable as long as he wears the skull mask. It couldn't be further from the truth. His eyes are so expressive, constantly betraying his innermost thoughts without even exposing the expressions of his visage.

The probing gaze you offer him has him twitching in his camo cargo pants. You see his thick length bob against the fabric, aroused by the ease with which you read him.

"Is that what you need, Riley?" It's rhetorical; you both know it. He's never required anything so desperately in his life. Simon had been lost in the Congo jungle without food for weeks and escaped a kidnapping attempt that had him stumble through the Iraqi desert without water, yet he looked at you with those keening eyes as though he'd die without a taste of you.

"Tell me."

"Yes," he gasps, inhaling sharply as though he'd forgotten to breathe, "Yes, ma'am. Please, I need to tast––"

Simon barely manages to finish his sentence before he pushes his trembling fingers beneath the hem of his mask on his throat, shoving it over the point of his chin and balancing the bunched-up material on the bridge of his nose. He groans out as he fumbles with your khaki belt, unwinding it with great difficulty.

While Simon busies himself with your zipper, your fingers delicately trace the silvering scars on his throat, many of Manuel Roba's love letters to evil etched into his ivory skin. The files had labelled each laceration and its cause; S2 below his chin issued by a butcher's knife, S5 against his clavicle the product of a dagger during a spar with another brainwashed hostage. You can't help but smile when your fingerprints find S7.

"S7 - a two-inch superficial scar from a tricycle accident."

A desperate groan rumbles in Simon's chest when he shucks the waistband of your cargo pants over the flesh of your hips. Your hand quickly grasps the edge of the table when he buries his nose against your clothed cunt, your heavy-handedness knocking more of the long-forgotten gory images to the floor.

"Fuck," Simon exhales, his warm breath fanning across the soaked fabric of your panties. "Thank you, Thank y- fuck."

Your gasp of pleasure catches even you off guard as Simon drags the flat of his tongue against the wetness of your underwear, a groan sneaking from his open mouth as he relishes in the taste.

"This good, ma'am?" he breathes, hot and heavy against your core. He's desperate to please, a slight flush to the lower half of his cheeks that you can see. It takes you a moment to compose yourself, overwhelmed by the exposed flesh of his face.

"Yes," you praise him as he uses his fingers to push aside the cotton in his way. "So fucking good for me, Simo-nhgn-"

The tip of Simon's tongue seems to find your clit almost instantaneously, curling around the sensitive bud and teasing it as though he knew exactly what you needed. His moan is muffled and pathetic against your soaked cunt, lapping at your arousal and drowning himself in you.

He keens when your fingernails dig into the soft flesh of his shoulder, digging reddening crescent moons into the skin. They blend amongst the charcoal of his tattoo sleeve, but they're there, little arches among the skulls, guns, and warfare.

Simon paws at the backs of your thighs, spreading the wingspan of his fingers across the curve of your asscheeks and squeezes, using his hold to drag your body impossibly closer to his mouth. He nuzzles in, the tip of his nose teasing at your clit as he sinks the hot, wet flesh of his tongue into your entrance.

"Hah-" you gasp out, Simon's moan vibrating against your needy clit forcing you to grind forward against his face in search of more friction. Your fingers find purchase in the fabric on the top of Simon's head, curling your knuckles around it but ensuring you don't lift the mask from his face.

The Lieutenant feels your grazing fingers against his scalp, burying his face further into your pussy as he tastes your arousal from the source. He sighs heavily, shakily into your cunt as he savours the ambrosia on his tongue, greed forcing him in for more–– licking and tasting and sucking and swallowing more of you.

"So good for me, Simon," you reward him, voice trembling as he assaults your cunt with his probing tongue. He retreats from the soaked flesh of your cunt to tease at your clit again. You can feel your pulse concentrating in it, thudding against his tastebuds.

"Mhmm," he huffs, vast chest heaving with heavy breaths that add another layer of pleasure to your arousal as they waft over your wet pussy lips. You could cry when you look down at him, his eyelids drooping (one lower than the other thanks to the scar that ran across his left eyelid. "S4 - a superficial scar from a fist fight during detention in Mexico").

A single, calloused palm skirts around your waist, splaying wide across your lower abdomen as Simon feels the muscles beneath his hand tremble and tense at his ministrations. He groans again, his other hand teasing at your pussy lips from behind in a silent plea for entry.

"Simon- Simon, do it," you urge him, desperate to be filled as he teased at your clit with his nimble tongue. You'd never had guessed a man so intent on disguising his countenance would have the perfect face to sit on.

"Yes, ma'am," he responds, only momentarily before reestablishing the relentless rhythm of the swipe of his tongue. Then, without much warning, he sinks his index finger into your entrance. A delicate press of his fingertip at first, testing the waters, so to speak. Only when you let out a blissful sigh does Simon continue to ease the digit into you.

His fingers are so thick. You stretch around him, your head dipping back between your shoulder blades and gasping a curse to the naked bulb hanging from the ceiling. The bliss that sweeps through you is overwhelming, toes curling in your combat boots as you attempt to escape the onslaught of pleasure.

Simon won't let you.

"Please," he moans in bliss as he pulls you closer again, your feeble body unable to fight his firm control when your limbs are gelatinous and malleable to his whims.

His cock is bobbing beneath his cargos, a dark patch of precum soaking into the camo print. A flood of arousal drips through you, your eyes rolling back at the realisation that he might fucking cum in his pants, untouched, just with the taste of you.

"S-Simon-" you wail, losing all control as your voice cracks. "Right there-"

God, he ratchets up the intensity of your bliss by sinking another finger into you. It faces no resistance, sliding down to the knuckle with an ease that had you seeing stars when it pushes up against something utterly devastating within your abdomen.

"There!"

Simon groans around your cunt, lathing his tongue over your throbbing clit with an eagerness that seems so alien for the stoic, unreadable Special Airforce Soldier. His fingers ease in and out of you ever so slightly, rocking back and forth against that mind-numbing spot inside you that has your knees buckling beneath your weight.

"Oh my g-aha-" you choke on your words, both hands now fumbling to hold onto the table with a white-knuckle grip. Tension curls in the pit of your stomach, twisting and shape-shifting.

You feel it before you hear it. The vibrations of Simon's desperate groans of bliss rock through your cunt before the sounds reach your ears, his mouth sloppy on your cunt as his own arousal begins to take root. The fingers not buried inside your walls take a bruising grip on your waist, branding you with his prints.

He notches that paradisical spot inside you one more, and your failing knees quake at the vicious burst of ecstasy it unleashes. You moan loudly, the lewd sound wracking through your body as though Simon had just set off a stun grenade, light bursting through you with a crack. Your hips buck against his chin and nose mindlessly as you ride through the peak of your bliss.

Simon lets his jaw hang loose, tongue flat as you ride against it— pathetic, utterly disgusting groans of delight drip from his lips as you use him. He pants, and you only just manage to force your eyes open as a particularly pitchy wail of your name to witness his undoing.

His hips rock forward against nothing, just barely finding friction on the seam of his pants as his orgasm rocks through him. You watch his eyelids flutter and his brows twitch as he cums in his standard-issue military cargos. He slumps back slightly, jaw loose as he sucks in deep breaths. It's utterly unbecoming of someone who appeared so unshakeable, a submissive, needy man taking his place.

At first, you allow him some space. The forceful inhale and trembling exhale of his lungs tick like a clock, in and out, in and out. Simon's hand delicately smoothes over the flesh of your ankle, a feeble attempt to feel close to you in this moment without overstimulating his vulnerable mind.

When he lifts those honeyed eyes to you, searching for your comfort, you allow your palms to smooth down the fabric of his ski mask and offer him some privacy, restoring some dignity to the usually stoic Ghost.

He leans into the weight of your palm for just a second. A barely there moment, like the grip of his biceps from earlier, the twitch of his brow. It fades quickly like his S7 scar, the dripping molasses of his eyes hardening beneath the skull image.

"Not a word," you order him, tone aggressively authoritarian when you issue your directive.

Ghost is glad for it, a curt nod of his head indicating his return to lucidity as he begins to rise to his feet.

"Yes, ma'am."

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crowlipso · 1 year

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MC - Agatha Crowley sheet

Information under the cut!

Basic Information

Full name: Agatha Chandra Crowley

Nickname: Ag, Aggie

Gender: Female

Sexuality: Bisexual

MBTI: ESTP

Species: Human

Date of birth: 18th June 1875

Nationality: British (British/Trinidadian/Siamese)

Blood status: Pure-blood/Half-blood (unclear)

Wand: Redwood wood with a dragon heartstring core 10 ¼" and quite bendy flexibility

House: Slytherin

Patronus: Dragon

Boggart: [LOCKED]

Amortentia: Burnt wood, Chocolate, Gasoline

Appearance

Hair colour: Platinum white

Hairstyle: Short soft curls

Eye colour: Magenta

Skin tone: Medium-dark skin with yellow-golden undertones

Height: (unclear) 3cm shorter than Sebastian

Weight: 60kg

Other distinguishing features: Two moles under the bottom lip, Fangs, Black nails polish

Personality

Agatha is confident and ambitious despite feeling neglected by her family and has developed a strong sense of self-worth. She's rebellious and doesn't conform to traditional gender roles, preferring to dress and act in a way that makes her feel comfortable rather than trying to please others. She can come across as cocky and sarcastic at times, partly because of her family's wealth and status, but also as a defense mechanism developed from her experiences with bullying.

While Agatha can be sarcastic and biting in her humour, she's also fiercely loyal to those she cares about and will go to great lengths to protect them. Her experiences with bullying have made her somewhat hostile towards those she perceives as a threat, but she's not inherently violent or cruel. She values intelligence and cunning.

Traits: Chaotic, Cocky, Charismatic, Sarcastic, Barbaric

Likes: Dragons, Insects, Leeches, Forbidden Knowledge

Dislikes: Milk in tea, Skirts

Good at: Martial arts, Animal Handling, Intimidating,

Bad at: Showing true emotions and Affection, Persuade

Hobbies: Bug collector, Quidditch for fun(played as Beater), Drawing

Fears: Become nobody, Her father

Ambition: Domesticated Dragons

Family & Backstory

Agatha Crowley was born into a wealthy and prestigious pure-blood family known for their diplomatic skills and trading. Her father always wanted a son to carry on the family name and legacy, but instead, he was disappointed to have a daughter. As a result, Agatha was neglected by her father and most of her extended family. Only her mother showed her affection and attention, taking care of her and even allowing her to play with muggle children in their neighborhood.

Agatha's childhood was rough due to her family's neglect and the bullying she experienced from muggle children because of her unnatural hair and eye color. To cope, she became rebellious and defiant, refusing to wear skirts and acting more like a boy to try and please her father.

Despite not showing any signs of magical ability, Agatha's maternal grandfather, a Siamese man who was skilled in Muay Thai, taught her martial arts from a young age. Agatha fell in love with the discipline and art of fighting and trained vigorously with her grandfather.

At the age of 15 Agatha's magical abilities finally awakened, and she received her acceptance letter to Hogwarts, Though she possessed traits of a Gryffindor, her ambitious nature led her to be sorted into Slytherin, much to her family's relief.

In Hogwarts, Agatha's skills in martial arts proved to be an asset in her studies, especially in Defense Against the Dark Arts. However, her troubled past and lack of parental guidance caused her to develop a rude, sarcastic, and mean personality, often pushing people away with her hostile behavior.

Despite this, Agatha remained fearless and savage, always ready to fight for what she believed in, and became a force to be reckoned with in both academics and combat.

Father: Josiah Crowley

Mother: Chandra *Thai people still haven't had a last name back then*

Paternal grandparents: Victarion Crowley and Calypso Lovegood

Maternal grandparents: Narong, -

Uncles: Bran Crowley (Josiah’s brother), Edward Crowley(other brothers)

Aunts: Alannis (Crowley) Sanchez

Cousins: Isis Crowley(Bran’s daughter), Rose Sanchez, Jason Sanchez (Alannis’s children), Ramsay Crowley, Victarion II Crowley, Aretha Crowley (Edward’s children)

Pet: Bunch of unnamed insects, two leeches name Robert and Henry

Family home: London, Wandsworth

Relationships

Friends: Sebastian Sallow, Ominis Gaunt, Giona Regali(oc), Natsai Onai, Poppy Sweeting, other fifth years

Best Friends: Sebastian Sallow, Ominis Gaunt

Love interest: Sebastian Sallow click

Others

Headcanon CV: Robyn Addison

Character inspiration:

Rhaenyra Targaryen - House of The Dragon

Nanno - Girl from nowhere

Veronica Sawyer - Heathers 1988

Cruella De Vil - Cruella 2021

Jo March - Little Women 2019

Agatha Harkness - Wandavision

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy oc #hogwarts legacy mc #hphl #hphl mc #slytherin #hphl oc #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x mc #agatha crowley #hogwarts #oc #original character #my art

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musingsinmountains · 10 months

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The One Shots: Mikey

Pairing: Mikey (Manjiro) Sano x reader

Inspired by: I want you by Savage Garden

CW/TW: mention of bullying/assault, bruises

Previous Next

I want you

Mikey was never really into the idea of dating or having a partner. It’s not like he wasn’t happy for Ken-chin and Emma, but it just wasn’t his thing. If he ever fell in love he’d move ever so slightly away. Better to keep people at arms length, especially when you’re the commander of a gang. At least that was what he thought until there was a new student at the family dojo.

It was his normal training time with his grandfather and Baji, but the dojo was closed up. He could hear his grandfather talking with Emma and someone else? “Please grandpa? The boys at school are getting too bold.” Emma complained. Mikey snuck a peak in the crack of the door frame just as Emma revealed the bruises on your arms and chest. Magenta feelings take up shelter in the base of his spine. You were the first person he thought was beautiful.

Like clockwork, his grandfather called out to him and he entered the room fully exposed to the extent of your injuries. “I think self defense training is the perfect training for Manjiro and Keisuke,” the old man nodded. “Majiro, when Keisuke arrives the two of you will assist Emma and her friend with some basic self defense training,” he continued, turning to his grandson. Mikey nodded, “Yes, sensei”.

After Mansaku left the dojo, Mikey looked you up and down. “Take a picture,” you growled and threw your uniform jacket down. Emma soothed you, reassuring you that he’s just assessing what level of intensity to make the training. “Sorry,” you apologize, picking up your uniform jacket to put back on. But not before the boy with long raven hair enters.

“Hey Emma, what the fuck?” Baji exclaims, looking at you. At least Mikey had the tact not to verbalize his disgust. Emma explains how some of the guys in your class have been bullying you because of your body. Baji was mad, demanding names of the “assholes who are hurting women”. Conversation has a time and place. And this was not the time nor the place for what Baji wanted to talk about.

“Sensei assigned us to give them some self defense training,” Mikey said calmly, putting his hand on Baji’s shoulder. “Baji, why don't you take Emma. I’ll work with her friend”. The two martial artists split up with their “student” and get to work. “Are you okay with me touching you?” Mikey asked. You nodded and the training began. At first, you had trouble deflecting his mock attacks.

“How am I messing this up?” your frustration was almost at a breaking point.

“Well, come stand a little bit closer,” Mikey said, “If you square up your stance, you’ll block my next attempt.” You nod and put his advice into action. This time when he came at you, the block and deflect worked. Mikey smiled at you, proud that his “student” was doing so well. After an hour, the self defense class ended and Mikey invited you back the next day for more training.

“You’re on,” you smile at him. Emma and Baji rejoin you two, then Emma walks you to the gate.

“He likes taiyaki,” she muses, “in case you wanted to thank him”. You gently shove her shoulder. Her advice was usually pretty good, so you stop and pick up some of the sweet treats on your way to lesson 2.

“Oh hey,” he smirked, “Ready for lesson two?” This lesson included throwing an attacker. This move took a few tries. First he walked you through the body movement, where you place your hands on the attacker, etc. The first attempt was a bust. “When I get to you,” his voice grows louder as he moves across the room, “Remember to ground into your heels and use that to propel you”. The second your footing was off. The third? That was the charm. When he comes at you, you just hold on tight and you flip him.

He’s down on the floor. Eyes wide with bewilderment. His cough morphs into a loud guffaw. The invincible Mikey had the wind knocked out of him by the best friend of his sister. I want you, his thoughts betray him. Something about your power, prowess, and how quickly you picked up the moves made his heart skip a beat. He locks eyes with you, “Guess I didn’t know what I was in for,” he laughs as you help him up.

“You’ll never know what hit you,” you smile. At this point, Mikey called it an afternoon. “Oh,” you breathe hard, “before I go, I have a thank you gift.” You hand him the box of taiyaki. The coil in his belly was winding tighter as he ate one. Sweeter than usual.

“Thank you,” he whispered as he accepted the box from you. This time, he walks you to the gate. Doesn’t stop there, he walks you home. At the door, he leans in close and you whisper for permission to kiss him.

No, Mikey didn’t know if he needed you but he was dying to find out.

Divider by @benkeibear

© All works belong to musingsinmountains. Please do not pirate my work onto other platforms. Support my releases with likes or reblogs on Tumblr and Kudos on AO3. Please support the official release of Tokyo Revengers.

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#Manjiro Sano #tokyo revengers #tokyorev x reader #Mikey x Reader #Manjiro Sano x reader #angst #The One Shots #Mikey Sano

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ambivalencez · 2 years

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I’ve been bad…

Summary: After teasing y/n Wandas suffering and thinking about y/n all day she sends the boy’s to her brothers what will happen? Domestic bliss (Au) No powers.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff X Fem reader

Warning: 18+ Fingering (r giving), oral(r giving) Minors will be blocked if they interact.

Part: 2 of Only good girls…

Wanda took a cold shower but the ache didn’t go away. She weaved around making sure everything was in its right place for tonight's dinner. Since you left out of the blue she didn’t get a chance to tell you about the lipstick on your collar. Your lips tongue and savage smile oh, what they could do to her. Closing her eyes she parted her lips and shivered. Maybe if she just imagined her hands were yours. Snapping her eyes open she waved the thoughts away. Shutting that thought down if it would mean sullying her clean clothes. With the mountain of clothes, the two boys generated combined there was no way she was contributing.

Wanda sent the boys to Pietro’s for the weekend. If it meant getting you alone. You had things to answer for, she’s been wondering about this emerging side of you. You topping more often and having your wicked way with her. Wanda wonders what kind of fantasies you cook up in that head of yours.

Standing in your bedroom she settled down that little black dress you liked on the comforter. Pair it with a matching lingerie set. The lacy black kind always drove you wild. She bit on her nails. Had you been holding this in the whole time? Was she not satisfying you? You had two boys together and she's not getting any younger. Softly shaking her head wiping a stray tear. No, she dare not even question the thought. You were hers and she was yours. There would never be anyone able to stand between you two. She’d leave questions for tonight.

The front door jiggled as a key turned lock opening it. You came inside and noticed things were off. The lights were dimmed Soothing jazz music flowed through the house. Dropping your keys on the key bowl.”Honey I’m home,” Today's weight shed off your shoulders. You couldn’t wait to see the effect of the morning on Wanda. Holding in your right hand Wanda’s favorite flowers Everbloom carnations. With sakura pink tips the centers were splotched magenta fading into a bright blood red. Poking out were eggshell white stamen. Smelling the flowers a sweet floral scent wafted in your nose. You couldn't wait to give them to her. Wandering through the house you searched for her.

The boys were not home that much was clear by now. There would be yelling and stomping towards the door to greet you. They would have glomped you by now. Begging for piggyback rides and to see if you could still walk with them clinging to your legs. You had been trying to be more spontaneous lately. Last week you spoke to a co-worker that was a marriage counselor couples needed to keep on spontaneity. So as to not get too comfortable and start drifting apart. You spoke to Wanda about trying more stuff in the bedroom. You would do anything for her and you wanted her to know that.

Marching up the stairs the light in your bedroom was on. You could Wanda’s shadow silhouette. Arriving at the top of the stairs entering your room. A dumb grin made its way on your face, Her back met your eyes she was having problems zipping the dress. You stood in the doorway bracing the flowers to your chest admiring the curve of her spine. The black dress held onto her curves just the right way. Her auburn hair was water-falling over her shoulder. Even when others crowded around she felt like the only source of light in the room.

Every time you saw her you felt twenty again. If you had your way you’d take her right here right now. Yet that will have to be put on pause. It seems your gorgeous wife has set up a dinner date.” You're as beautiful as the day i first met you, my jewel,”

Wanda jumped a little craning her to see you “Dekta? Can you come help me with this zipper ?” Striding up behind her you felt the heat emanating off her body. I brought you flowers,” Taking them from you she hugged the bundle smelling them. “Thank you they smell delightful,” Zipping up the dress you hug her from behind taking in the fragrance of her skin a perfume. On the brink of not being able to control yourself, you snuggled your head against her then released.

You held your hand out for her coming downstairs together. The table is set with lit candles. Underneath a white table cloth. Dinner was cooled enough to eat. Steak and asparagus. Succulent brown topped with butter and a sprig of rosemary. Wanda had your heart hook line and sinker. Sitting down on separate sides of the table. The way the flames flicker emitting light from the candles; cast shadows across the lower half of Wanda’s face. Her pink curved lips in quiet admiration. Her eyes were like an abyss sucking you in. You swallowed and bit your lips

“Wan-“

“-Y/n” You jesters towards her smiling. The pair of you sit down, dim light glittering off her iris. She wore a troubled look. “Are you getting tired of me? The new activity in the bedroom is nice but I feel like I’m not enough for you.” Furrowing your brows eyes widening. Dropping the utensils in your hands you hold the side of your head. Now to fix your blunder.

“Wanda never, please I’m so sorry. I never meant to make you feel that way. I’ve messed everything up.”

“Start off slow, what caused this?”

“I’ve been tired lately and feel guilty. with our boys we are so busy all the time. I feel like I haven’t been giving you the attention you deserve. My co-worker the marriage counselor Philips you remember him?

“The one with a silly haircut he thinks is stylish.” Wanda drawled. You clicked your tongue. “Bingo, I was talking to him about how to spice up a marriage. He said the key is spontaneity. I fucked up royally I guess maybe I got carried away. I am such an idiot i got excited. I wanted to please you not just receiving.”

Slumping back in her chair Wanda sighed “Oh, thank god.” Reaching across the table Wanda leaned forward and put her hand on top of yours. “We both did neither of us spoke more of the details. I did agree to try new things though. It’s relieving to hear my own thoughts got to me earlier. Let’s eat dinner before it gets cold.”

Anger at yourself floated at the top of your mind. Cutting into the steak you pop it into your mouth. Gleefully chewing you wonders how Wanda was holding up. Meeting her olive eyes across the table. She stared at your lips. “ We are not eating dinner, are we?” Wanda grunted. “Hell no, get over here you damn tease,” Putting out the candles smoke rose in the air.

“I’ve been really bad not taking care of my baby as she needs. I am yours tonight.”

“For the weekend actually,” Wanda said a wry smile fell on her lips.

You launched aside everything on the table. Dishes crashed on the floor as the pair of you flung yourselves over the table. Scrambling towards one another leaning forward Wanda captures your lips. Closing her blurred vision in order to get the most of this quiet little moment of ecstasy. A breathy entail of air sinks out of her lips.

Wanda gasps out from the unimaginable softness she’s met with. The moment you had so desperately been waiting for sank in heatedly. This!This!This! Your mind chirped in pleasure. Lips met repeatedly incanting an entire different energy, fierce angry swirls prepared to tear each other apart in reckless abandon. Shirts were torn off as the pair of you gazed into one another's eyes. Never have more meaning to the word desire. Wanda pushed you into the table straddling you. You hissed at the pain ringing in your shoulder blades. Raising with a feral smile Wanda held you down with one hand against your chest. The table groaned under your combined weight. Both breathless confused and lost in a burbling mess.

Hands fingers and joints reaching out blind. In an endless desire to feel what your mind’s always craved to touch. Wanda’s hand slid up the center of your chest, while you sputtered desperately to scratch bite feel all, if it existed you desired it. A frightful daze beckoned you where the last of you and Wanda’s sanity held threadbare ready to snap and let go to the beyond. Kissing fitfully teeth ground into lips.

The encounter went on as you kissed fitfully. In an effort to get high off each other. Smacking lips echoed in the Kitchen. Abandoning the last of your apparel. Bare backs and spines arched breast to breast flesh meshed together. You flip Wanda onto her back glaring with the desire to devour her. Clammy breasts heaved diving in you and latched on Wanda’s right breast. Causing her to groan yanking at the hair at the nape of your neck. Your right hand massaged her other breast fiddling with the bud. Tracing every sight in the dark room feeling up Wanda. Using your palms murky-minded flowing with your tasks. You headed towards her slippery slope’s.

Right between a pair of thighs . Inhaling deeply you goggled it felt like the pleasure and insurmountable release of death. Parting twin mounds you impacted your tongue into every crevice. Feeling as if this was the after images previous to death. Your brain was sending mosaic dreams of your true desires. You sailed off into new realms of this at the musky scent of desire pressing flush against Wanda. Your bodies moved together. You sucked on Wanda’s clit holding one leg over your shoulder. While the redhead moaned pulling on your now loose shaggy hair while you ravaged her. Trailing your tongue lapping against Wanda’s entrance. Wanda wrapped her legs tightly around your head. You grasped her ass firmly with both hands. Sliding your hands over the pubic and hip bones and admiring the curvature of the edge. Wanda’s desire ever-growing wanting with worship. Throbbing walls fasting around your head. Unable to take it anymore Wanda’s eye’s shut.

Rolling back into her head she let loose a scream. Liquid gushed inside your mouth and all over your chest. Swallowing greedily licking your lips. Spent Wanda collapsed in a daze on the table. Pulling her leg from over your shoulder. Waiting for her to come down you begin showing your worship. By kissing her from the tops of her feet up ankles her thigh’s most delicate corners. Arriving up at Wanda’s naval and labored chest. Peppering kisses up the hollow of her throat you curl up in her arms.

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda fanfic #marvel women #marvel smut #wanda x y/n #wanda marvel #female reader #wanda maximoff smut

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kirishimasensei · 2 years

Text

what spring does with the cherry trees (part I)

You stay at your godfather’s ludus for the summer, where you meet Bakugou Katsuki, his champion gladiator.

part I | part II

author :: KirishimaSensei (Misha) pairing :: Bakugou Katsuki x f!Reader word count :: 2.3k tags :: Spartacus AU | adult characters | adult language | descriptions of violence | ancient Roman slavery

i. "How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me, my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running..."

Sword meets spear, steel against unyielding steel, sending a symphony of sparks flying from both men’s weapons and onto the sands. You can feel the roar of the crowd around the pulvinus where you sit, the vibrations finding haven in your otherwise motionless body, creeping its way through your heart like desire. But even still, the sound of steel rings in your ears, drowning out all other noises of the arena until all you can hear is sword against spear against shield.

The day is growing late, coloring the sky with a deep magenta glow that signals the approaching dusk. Though the sun is slowly descending, the heat still lays on you like a blanket, surrounding you, warming your already overheated skin as you absentmindedly call for wine.

You startle when you feel a hand at your shoulder. Your thoughts have been intent on the games, but now free from your reverie, you smile up at your godfather and accept the glass offered to you.

“I had not known you were so captivated by the games!” Todroki Enji says, pleased at the revelation, the changes he has seen in you since you were a child.

You have been away from Capua for five years now, and have returned a woman now grown. Your best friend and godbrother, Shouto, had left for school at the same time, as children of a certain age and state do when the time comes. Since then, your father has sadly passed on, your mother long since gone, and instead of staying in Rome with your step-brother and his wife, you decided to return to Capua, welcomed without question into the Todoroki household.

Shouto had decided not to return, staying instead with his own mother to care for her once she was dismissed from his father’s home. You would miss your childhood friend, and although Shouto vowed never to return to Capua, he promised that the two of you would never be too long away from one another.

Being Shouto’s friend, and spending so much time at Villa Todoroki, you have been well acquainted with gladiators and what the sport entails. As a child, you could barely stomach the gladiatorial games, disgusted at the senseless killing, the bloodshed. The skill that the warriors possessed, that you were intrigued by, studying them as they trained in the practice field below the Todoroki Villa balcony. But the idea of forcing someone to kill for sport, that your younger self could not bear.

“I have only now realized their appeal,” you admit before taking a sip of your wine.

You have to hold back a grimace. Not Cestian, you note, but an inferior vino. Next time, you will be sure to request water. You hand the glass off to your body slave and turn your attention back to the display before you.

It is not the games themselves that you have learned to favor, but the gladiators who fought in them. More precisely, one gladiator in particular who is putting on quite an impressive show at the moment, leaving you fixed on the edge of your chair.

The gladiator’s hard body shines radiant beneath the Roman sun, so much that you believe that he must have been sculpted from bronze, carved with thoughtful, meticulous strokes, lovingly crafted by the gods themselves. He is made of strong lines and chiseled plains, wide shoulders tapered down to a slender waist. Powerful arms, stronger legs, a graceful jaw paired with eyes like jewels and lips like sin.

Bakugou Katsuki is the most glorious being that you have ever seen.

“A spectacle isn’t it?” Enji asks you. “Katsuki is well versed in pleasing the crowd.”

“Well versed, indeed,” you reply, though you are not so joyous.

The thought of this match has plagued you since news of it. Katsuki and the undefeated Champion of Capua fighting sine missione – to the death. It was enough to reduce you to tremors. But now, seeing the two before you, your nerves quickly fade, leaving only longing in their wake.

Katsuki owns the arena – the sand beneath his feet, the swords in his hands, the crowds clamoring around him. His opponent will soon be his too. The day will be won and he will be the new champion.

You watch as Katsuki side steps his opponent’s attack, leaving the man sprawled upon the ground. He quickly recovers, though, and lunges for Katsuki who evades the sword meant to pierce his stomach and bends beneath the weapon. He then lands a blow to his attacker’s back, once more sending him to the sand.

Katsuki’s laugh finds its way up to the pulvinus, wrapping around you like a tangible thing. You have heard him speak in the ludus, instructing his fellow gladiators with the right combination of firm demands and helpful guidance. You have heard his voice during practice spars, taunting his opponent with playful banter. You have dreamed of his voice, of Katsuki whispering in your ear as he thrusts inside of you, passionate words made rough and thick. If you were deaf to everything but the gladiator’s voice, still you would be a contented woman.

“Does your gladiator fear nothing?” you ask of your godfather, never taking your eyes off the man in question.

“Katsuki is fear!” Enji says. “See how the Champion of Capua quivers before him!”

And how you quiver, too, now that you can share in your godfather’s mirth, for he spoke the truth. Not but minutes after his declaration, the once champion’s head rolls upon the sands, his body dropping to the ground. You cannot suppress the smile that blooms upon your face as Katsuki’s name echoes through the air, a steady throb trembling throughout the amphitheater, not so different from the one forming between your thighs.

Once back at the villa, Enji takes both you and his wife under each arm. “A celebration is in order!” he announces, pulling you two tightly towards him. “The House of Todoroki will be on every tongue in Capua!”

You smile at your godfather’s rejoicing. A celebration was in order, indeed. Katsuki’s victory in the arena has turned the incessant fire within you into an inferno, one that will not be easily quenched nor sated. The flames lick at your flesh, heating your body with a sultry sheen, so much that you fear your godfather would feel the warmth radiating from your skin.

“Truly this has been a most joyous day,” you reply, moving from Enji’s side, “but I believe it is time for me to retire for the evening. The hour grows late, and I am weary from such blessed excitement.”

“May you have peace in this night of celebration!” Enji’s wife, Kaina says. “Surely the men in the ludus are commemorating their house’s victory tonight as well. I pray the noise does not resonate too loudly in your chambers.”

You give the woman a courteous smile. “A discomfort born free from grievance. The Champion of Capua must be honored, on this, a most splendid day.”

“And what of our champion?” Enji contemplates, to your pleasure. A plan has already been set into motion, one now being carried out so easily without much prodding on your part. “Surely he should be properly rewarded for his showing in the arena,” he continues.

“All the wine he could ask for,” Kaina replies. “I’m sure the others will see that his glass stays overflowing.”

“And women!” Enji says, then turns to his body slave. “See that his bed is overflowing as well!”

You pause to feign thought for a moment before speaking once more. “I could send my slave, Hiroko, to pleasure your champion. Surely a tribute such as she would be most welcome, yet untouched as she is.”

“A generous offer,” Enji declares, clearly approving of your idea, eager to start partaking in his own celebration. “I will send someone to prepare your slave immediately.”

“Oh! There will be no need,” you say, glancing at Hiroko. The girl’s expression is veiled, but you know that you will be chided once in the privacy of your own quarters. You are in no mood for a lecture, but you know that the outcome will be well worth it. You turn back to your godfather, attempting to conceal your excitement. “I will see to Hiroko’s preparations.”

“Do you think this wise?”

You turn and consider your companion. “And of what do you speak?” you ask with mock curiosity.

Hiroko scowls at you, and in turn, you can’t keep the smile from your face. You begin to remove your jewels as you wait for her to answer.

“You think me so dense I cannot see through your schemes?” Hiroko asks you. “I am quite aware you won’t be sending me to the gladiator this night. You plan to go in my stead.”

You laugh, quirking a brow. “You do know me so well.”

And, truly, she does. She knows you better than anyone else, and though you are younger than her, you have known no one longer. And though she is, strictly speaking, your slave, you have a deeper connection with no one else. You two share a similar visage, as well. Lips akin to one another, eyes both of identical shape but of a slightly different color, both beautiful in your own right and similar to those who regard you two only in passing. Some people remark on how she favors you, while most stay silent, all obviously aware of your father’s indiscretion.

But to you, Hiroko is your closest companion. Your slave only by birth and custom. You know your only difference is your mothers’ stations, and for a purpose unknown, the gods have seen it fit to bless you with a proper Roman birth. Hiroko was your sister regardless, and were it that your roles were switched, you know that she would treat you similarly.

“You worry for nothing,” you reassure her, but Hiroko merely shakes her head and begins to assist in undressing you. You give her nose a soft kiss. “Do not be so sullen.”

Hiroko throws her hands up with a sigh and moves away from you. “We could be caught,” she tries to explain, but her concern falls on deaf ears.

You groan in irritation as you remove your clothes and launch the bundled fabric at her. “If someone comes, merely feign sleep. ‘Tis a simple task, carried out time and time over.”

“And what of you?” she asks, walking the clothes to the closet. “You could be hurt! He is a gladiator! He put a man to grass today!”

“And how I trembled as he did!” you reply, smiling at Hiroko through your vanity mirror’s reflection as you take your hair down from your plaits. You cock a brow at her agitated expression. “Would you deny me my one desire?” you continue, pouting.

“Your one desire?” she asks, incredulous. “Never have you desired only one thing. You are a greedy girl and the gladiator will quench your thirst for now, but then eyes will be set upon new conquest. When you have your fill you will leave him as you do all things.”

“No,” you respond, appalled. “No, never. If he were mine, I would never see him from my arms.” Your eyes twinkle with mischief as you smirk. “Or my cunt.”

“The mouth on you!” Hiroko gasps. “Just because you seek to lay with a savage doesn’t mean that you have to behave as such.”

You gasp in displeasure. “Katsuki is no savage!”

“And you know this how?” she asks and you feel your cheeks heating at the words yet unspoken, knowing how they will sound in the ears of your companion. Your thoughts will seem naïve, childlike, but they are so heavy on your tongue that you must speak them anyway.

“His eyes,” you say. “The depths in which are more burning, more crimson, than any flame I’ve ever seen. How I long to gaze into them as he touches me, his war-hardened hands gripping my flesh. His voice, deep and low in my ear.”

“You talk as if in love!” Hiroko says, clucking.

“Nearly so,” you reply.

“You have yet to even share words with the man,” she says, “and now you make declarations of love.”

You don’t respond, not quite knowing what to say, so Hiroko leaves you to disappear into her adjoining room and the returns with a handful of folded clothes.

“Will this suffice?” she asks, unfolding the stola and holding it up for you to see.

It is something Hiroko has not worn in ages, too small and too short, but perfect for you and your purpose. You drape the fabric over one shoulder and wrap it around your waist, letting it fall high on your thighs. You cinch it with a belt of woven gold thread and tassels, then slide your feet into Hiroko’s sandals.

“Come,” she beckons and then she dabs scented oil onto your skin where Katsuki might linger – behind your ears, in the hollow of your throat, the valley between your breasts. She removes the gold collar from her own neck and places it around yours.

“Should I mark your skin as well?” she asks sarcastically, eyeing your ankle. Hiroko’s bares your family’s mark, permanently tattooed to signal her as a slave.

“That seems a bit unnecessary,” you reply, smirking at your companion. “The marks he will leave on my body will be well worn.”

Hiroko rolls her eyes as you smooth down the fabric around your thighs. You admire yourself in the mirror as you speak.

“In any case,” you say, “I am more than capable of taking care of myself. You of all people should know.”

Before she can respond, you turn around so that your companion may gaze upon your completed appearance. “Do I look a slave?” you ask.

“No,” she says. “You look a Roman in slave’s clothing. As always.”

You smile. “For tonight, it will do.”

i. Pablo Neruda, "Every Day You Play..."

a/n :: I’ve been trying to write this for literal years and I think I’ve found the motivation. But, if you’ve read something similar to this chapter before, no you haven’t :)

Also, I have big plans for this fic, so if you’d like to see more, please let me know!

#bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bnha imagine #bakugou imagine #mdni

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my-chaos-radio · 27 days

Text

youtube

Release: May 27, 1996

Lyrics:

Anytime I need to see your face, I just close my eyes

And I am taken to a place where your crystal mind

And magenta feelings take up shelter in the base of my spine

Sweet like a chic-a-cherry cola

I don't need to try to explain, I just hold on tight

And if it happens again, I might move so slightly

To the arms and the lips and the face of the human cannonball

That I need to, I want to

Well, come stand a little bit closer

Breathe in and get a bit higher

You'll never know what hit you

When I get to you

Ooh, I want you, I don't know if I need you, but

Ooh, I'd die to find out

Ooh, I want you, I don't know if I need you, but

Ooh, I would die to find out

I'm the kind of person who endorses a deep commitment

Getting comfy, getting perfect is what I live for

But a look, then a smell of perfume

It's like I'm down on the floor and I don't know what I'm in for

Conversation has a time and place

In the interaction of a lover and a mate

But the time of talking, using symbols, using words

Can be likened to a deep sea diver

Who is swimming with a raincoat

Well, come stand a little bit closer

Breathe in and get a bit higher

You'll never know what hit you

When I get to you

Ooh, I want you, I don't know if I need you, but

Ooh, I'd die to find out

Ooh, I want you, I don't know if I need you, but

Ooh, I would die to find out

ya, ya

(Ooh, ah) ya, ya

Anytime I need to see your face, I just close my eyes

And I am taken to a place where your crystal mind

And magenta feelings take up shelter in the base of my spine

Sweet like a chic-a-cherry cola

I don't need to try to explain, I just hold on tight

And if it happens again, I might move so slightly

To the arms and the lips and the face of the human cannonball

That I need to, I want to

Ooh, I want you, I don't know if I need you, but

Ooh, I'd die to find out

Ooh, I want you, I don't know if I need you, but

Ooh, I would die to find out (so can we find out?)

Ooh, I want you, I don't know if I need you, but

Ooh, I'd die to find out

Ooh, I want you, I don't know if I need you, but

Ooh, I would die to find out

Songwriter:

Ooh, I want you, I don't know if I need you, but

Ooh, I'd die to find out (I'd die to find out)

Ooh, I want you, I don't know if I need you, but (oh, why can't we find out?)

Ooh, I would die to find out

Daniel Jones / Darren Hayes

SongFacts:

👉📖

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hxney-lemcn · 2 years

Text

No One Like You — Hunter x gn! reader

Summery: Reader stumbles on a strange book vendor and meets someone new.

tw: none

a/n: I have a few things to say. 1. I try to keep my fics inclusive (I was really shit at that before), so when I write the reader flushing, I mean they feel their cheeks warm up, doesn't mean that you can see it (it depends on the reader). 2. I haven't finished the fic yet, this is kinda a teaser (yes I have so far written eleven chapters, so don't worry, I'm almost done). but thats all, enjoy reading!

wc: 0.6k

Chapter One

Master List

Walking through the market, people were shouting about their wares everywhere. I looked down at the list my parents gave me. I need to get some nightshade next…

I looked around for a stand that sold tea. Instead my eyes landed on a stand selling books. I felt drawn to it, so I decided to check it out. Walking over, no one really seemed interested in the books. Looking closer they were...were these restricted books? Why are they selling these out in the open during the day? Shouldn't they be a part of the night market? I looked around, in case an Emperor coven scout thought I was up to no good or something.

Seeing as no one seemed suspicious of me, I looked back at the books. Flipping through one I noticed it was about the savage ages and about wild magic. The pictures of old magic and creatures and traditions...it honestly seemed interesting.

"Good eye," The vendor said. Their cloak obscured their face, but I could still see their sharp teeth showing from underneath. "All of these are rare books, for...collectors."

Red flags were going off, my anxiety coming full force. Was this a sting operation to find witches who are interested in wild magic? Am I in trouble? This all was sketchy as hell.

"I uh..." I slightly stuttered.

"I like you kid," The vendor said, all I could stare at were those sharp teeth. "I'll give you a discount, 30 snails."

That was the price of a regular book. Well I guess this isn't just a regular book. But the discount seemed like this really was a sting operation.

"That's an interesting book," Another more boyish voice spoke up. Turning around I felt my eyes widen. Only to see...another kid. Oh.

He had blond hair that was slicked back (though a strand hung over his forehead). He also had these magenta eyes that I've never seen anything like with dark eye bags. He had a scar on the right side of his cheek and part of his ear was clipped almost. He honestly looked like he's up to something.

But my moms taught me better than to judge someone on their appearance. But this entire situation is just...off.

"It does look interesting," I agreed. "But my moms wouldn't want me coming home with something that could get me in trouble with the Emporer's coven."

"Smart," He nodded.

"I just wish learning history wasn't something to be looked down upon," I mumbled, mostly to myself but I could tell that he heard. "Just because I read about something doesn't mean I'm going to participate in it. I've read horror books with murderers, but I'm not a murderer now."

"That's...true," He agreed, hand under his chin like he was thinking deeply. "Maybe you should get it then."

I looked up at him suspiciously, "I mean...is it worth being sent to the conformatorium though?"

"If you keep the book hidden..." He trailed off.

"Are you trying to set me up or something?" I asked straight out.

"Wh-wha?" He exclaimed wide eyed. "No, no of course not!"

I stared at him for a few seconds with squinted eyes, then looked down at the book. After a few seconds I decided 'screw it, it's just a book'. Giving the vendor my money, I put the book in a satchel that I was carrying.

"Uh...nice meeting you?" I said to the guy with a slight questioning tone.

I waited for a reply as he seemed to be having a dilemma, but I really needed to finish this grocery shopping, and I spent enough time at this book stand.

'Maybe he's not going to reply,' I thought and slowly turned around, still giving him a chance to say something.

"N-nice to meet you too," He settled on, and I waved before walking off.

Next Chapter →

#toh hunter #hunter the owl house #the golden guard #the owl house #toh #the golden guard x reader #golden guard x reader #toh hunter x reader #hunter toh x reader #x reader

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hms-tardimpala · 3 months

Text

Today I love...

Synthpop. Thank you @narastories for making me aware of the term in the tags of one of your posts, because I didn't know what to call it before. In french we call it "new wave" or something but that's not explanatory at all. As a lover of electronic, techno and dance music, it's pretty obvious that I should love synthpop. Synthetizers my beloved.

This one feels like a brain massage:

Queen MARINA:

A nice background one:

A french one:

#these spotify thingies used to be smaller I don't like these ones #today I love #music

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projectaconitum · 3 months

Text

Lovely Diabolik Abyss

It's easy to fall.

{ First Part }

"DIE! DIE!" Kanato screamed as he kicked Viola's body. She clutched her ears, squeezing her blind eyes shut by instinct. "HOW DARE YOU SAY THAT TO ME?!"

Viola whimpered, although she said nothing as the vampire savagely caused bruises to bloom.

"Kanato!" a harsh, familiar voice chipped in, and Reiji made quick strides towards his younger half-brother, his magenta eyes narrowed with wild irritation bordering on fury.

"What do you want?" Kanato muttered, his pupils darting towards Reiji for a moment before focusing again on Viola. "Just now... did you smile?" Kanato's small yet brutal fist nested itself in Viola's hair. "Hey, answer me."

"Kanato," Reiji said again, his voice darkening by shades, "That woman belongs to me."

The purple-haired man's brows narrowed for a moment before he, eventually, let go of Viola, giving her a final, resentful kick to her ribcage before he left, squeezing his beloved Teddy for dear life.

"Honestly..." Reiji muttered as he gazed upon Viola's sorry state. "I thought I told you there was no need to ever leave your room. You only have yourself to blame."

"I'm sorry," she gasped between rough, ugly coughs. Her eyes were filled with unshed tears, but they refused to spill. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry..." It sounded like her voice was broken.

Reiji stared at her for a long moment before deciding that she might die if he didn't do something for her. This was becoming a habit, but he supposed it gave him a great opportunity to test some of his drugs.

"Why am I alive?" were Viola's first words when she woke from her fitful sleep. The vampire glanced at her as he capped a tincture he had just applied to her wounds. Her eyes were red with agitation, her lips chapped and freshly scabbed.

"Do you mean to tell me that your little excursion was an attempt to escape?" Reiji asked her dangerously, but she shook her head, staring blankly across the room.

"I... got lost, looking for a glass of water. I was thirsty, and I was feeling my way through the hallway when I bumped into Kanato... then I thought when he started whaling on me that... maybe this was just how it was supposed to be. Maybe I've been fighting to live for too long."

Reiji stared at her for a long moment. At the pathetic woman who had fallen so far. She had been hopeless to begin with, but now it simply hurt to even look at her.

"I did not see you fighting at any point," Reiji replied, and Viola flinched at the roughness in his tone. "You came here a broken woman, and you only threw yourself deeper into despair, begging to be punished for living. Honestly, to classify that as a "struggle" is a pathetic excuse. You just want the pain."

"Well, what else am I supposed to do?" Viola asked, for the first time raising her voice at the vampire, her fingers clutching the blankets with vicious intensity. Fat tears dribbled from her eyes, and she gritted her teeth. "I have never longed for anything more than to be so deeply cared for that I and my significant other are inseparable. I have wasted years upon years of my life, wishing that I would meet someone who actually makes me feel happy to be around them. The only man I have ever loved wants nothing to do with me. I have nothing, now. Nothing except pain."

For a moment, Reiji was stunned at Viola's sudden outburst. She never once had an ounce of resistance, but now?

"...if it is pain you want..." Reiji murmurs, grabbing hold of Viola's wrist. "Then pain I will give you."

Although he had said, many weeks prior, that her blood did not interest him in the slightest, he dragged her closer and sunk his fangs deep into her neck.

"Straighter," Reiji warned, pressing his palm to Viola's back, and she confusedly tried to obey, though her back was already as straight as a ruler. The book fell off her head with a dull thump, and Reiji sighed. "Father is visiting tomorrow; can you not act with just the slightest amount of decorum?"

"I'm sorry..."

"And do not wince every time I touch you. Your jerky movements are an eyesore." Reiji pauses for a moment before he leads Viola to the small table next to his favorite reading spot, guiding her hands towards his teapot. "Find the cup and pour."

For a moment, Viola struggled, and Reiji was tempted to cruelly take the teacup from the table and hold it in front of her sightless eyes, although the urge passed as her fingers brushed the cup's lip, and she carefully aligned the spout to the inside of the cup. She poured, hesitating about halfway full, before filling it three-quarters of the way.

"Drink it, and do not make a sound."

Viola stares into Reiji's general direction, startled.

"Me?"

"Do you hear anyone else in this room? Do as I say." And, with hesitant fingers, Viola obediently raises the teacup to her lips, taking a slow, careful sip without complaint.

"It seems you're not entirely hopeless," Reiji remarked as she eventually finished it in utter confusion. "Then, let us see if I can teach you to be a proper lady by the end of today. Don't disappoint me."

As Reiji took Viola by the hand, calling familiars to create music for his enjoyment, he smiled, briefly, to himself as he tucked a vial of liquid painkiller into his pocket.

#sakamaki reiji #help is available #dark aesthetic #anime #diabolik lovers #reiji sakamaki x mc #reiji x oc #depression #vampire #that moment when he's nice

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lyemohan · 7 months

Text

"Hey, wyrm. You remember Ser Astrort, you savage monster?"

Amgerdr looked at the young elezen with a side glance, the pale tone of the male Ishgardian contrasting his black hair and blue eyes. His jawline was sharp, with a thin stubble starting to grow along it, give the bigoted man the appearance of a Fury-damned log of shite.

Amgerdr would not dignify the man's aggressive request, instead more focused on the cider in their gloved hand, the dark blue shade matching her long gunbreaker's coat. She closed her magenta eyes, the eyeliner of the same color meeting in the middle as her long black hair, bound in ponytail, was shown to the vile-natured man. "Hmm? Who? Don't know him, and I'm no heretic. Swive off."

"Oh, no little lass, you are," the man responded with a grunt of satisfaction. "You're the bloody shapeshifter, the monster among man. A vile wyrm that strikes in the night. You're Nott."

Amgerdr would open her eyes. She attempted to not respond to the remainder of the life she used to live. The life she tried all her life to throw away, along with the name.

She played dumb for the man, shrugging. "Don't know who in the hells that is." She would go to take another sip, only for her cheek to meet the flying fist of the man himself, knocking Amma down with a grunt as the falls to the floor, her mug flying away as she let go of it, glass shattering as it hits the ground, shards flying into her face.

She grunts as she lay on the ground, black boots with spurs over the cuffs of black pants starting to move in an attempt to gain her bearing. "You lie," the young, vengeful man, spoke. "You do know him, because you're the bloody wyrm who killed him! Who killed my father!"

His shouting was enough to get the bar to turn, despite them understanding very little. "You. You're the wyrm that took my father's life. So I'm going to take your eyes." His tone was hushed, only being heard by Amma herself, and very few others.

Swive this, she thought. She brought her right leg up to his face, kicking him hard as he went to pull out his knife. The young child of man yelped as he clutched his face, falling over against the bar. He would cry out in pain, wailing with a dramatic performance. "She hit me! That wyrm-bitch hit me! Why, I didn't do anything!"

His testimony was more convincing, as 5 other men slowly started to get up from a table, wearing the same chainmail the young man wore. Amma swore to herself, recognizing the signature red of the Convictors. The camp of aggressive dragon slayers.

"Aye, you there, bloody coward. You think you're tough, eh?" The lead Elezen spoke with a wicked tone, preparing to strut toward Amma at an intimidatingly slow pace.

She stood up, hand grasping the handle of her gunblade. Though, she wasn't able to clear leather until the 5 slayers piled on top of her, throwing fits and feet at her visage, her glasses cracked and flying off, her back facing up as she was forced to lay on her stomach.

The metal being thrown at her was leaving the flesh she had on bloody and bruised, the woman unable to fend for herself while the 5 men went to town on her. She hissed as her eyes returned to slits, bringing her arms into her chest before throwing them back out, the aetheric vessel that hid her true self from the star being cast away as wings fling the men off of her, claws and tail swinging at her assailants as she regained her bearings once more.

The bar erupted in a song of fear.

"A dragon!!"

"Fury help us!"

"Someone call the Knights!!"

Amma had no advantage here. The only option was to escape. She let out a short but loud roar, dashing to the exit of the bar and pushing it open with her black-maned-and-horned head, the crown shoving the door open as she makes herself as thin as possible, tucking her wings in close to just slip though the opening.

Outside, she could still hear the screams. She looked up in the alley she exited into, not even thinking as she hopped onto building after building, getting as high as possible as she tried to take off into the sky.

After hitting a decent sprint along the obtuse Ishgardian rooftops, she opened her wings, taking off into the skies and soaring away from the commotion.

Only for the sharp sting of a lance to enter her back, causing her to yowl in pain as she descended to the ground with a hard thud. As she blacked out, she could hear the words of her assalint. "A bit far from the Spine, are we?"

---

The next day, the dragon was released, as an eyewitness at the bar stepped forward to tell the true story of what happened. A week later, she fully recovered.

Though, as she went back to the bar, the servers turned her away, banning her from the place outright.

Amma would sigh, taking a long walk through the Pillars once more. Alone.

#ffxiv writers #ffxiv #ff14 #ffxiv oc #dragonsong #ishgard #heavensward #post war

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herearedragons · 8 months

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💥COLLISON and 👖JEANS for all/any (i'd def love to hear abt Kyana though)? :]

OC emoji asks

Thanks for the ask!

💥 COLLISION - what emotions do they have trouble dealing with?

Kyana: ...all of them? Feeling strongly about things is, in general, pretty new to her, and so far she's been dealing with it mostly by blowing things up. I guess she weirdly has trouble dealing with gentler emotions like affection or gratitude, because she doesn't really know what to do with them. Things like anger she can use to propel herself forward, but this? What the Void does she do with this?

Neilar: negative emotions aimed at people or things he cares about. His entire identity is built around who and what he loves, so when that is challenged, it's not great for him. So, unsurprisingly, it's pretty difficult for him to deal with the revelation about the elven gods or with the way his relationship with Dorian is going by the end of Trespasser.

Aqun: anger and helplessness. He has an internalized fear of "going savage" despite only being half-Qunari, so he tries to avoid anything that feels even remotely like it. With anger in particular, he doesn't really know how to make it go away in a way that's still rational.

Adina: loneliness. It's been years since she's been completely alone, with Freedom or Aqun or the other Valo-Kas always somewhere nearby, and she likes it that way; I think she wouldn't know what to do with herself without any company at all.

👖 JEANS - what is their go-to outfit?

Kyana: during the Blight it's whatever offers the most protection. Left to her own devices, I think it's either straight-up wizard robes or, like, skirts/long coats, long-sleeved buttoned-up tops. She mostly wears dark, desaturated blues, purples and greys, and no jewelry except for her Warden's Oath and Zevran's earring (she does get her ear pierced so that she can wear it properly).

Neilar: he has like two shirts, one pair of pants and a jacket that he packed at home before going to the Conclave, and, left to his own devices, he'll just be wearing that, so it's simple clothes of Dalish make in earthy green/brown tones. There's also the red scarf/bandana thing I always draw him with, which is a good luck charm his younger sister gave him, and that always stays on in some capacity; if he's not wearing it around his neck, he'll tie it to his belt or around his hand.

Aqun: just, like, a shirt and trousers. Similar to Neilar, he doesn't keep a wide selection of clothes, but his are kind of more plain and less personal and also (unlike Neil, who's surprisingly good at making his clothes last) he keeps having to replace them because they get burned or torn or irreversibly stained with stinky chemicals.

Adina: the one I always draw her with: some kind of sleeveless shirt, her favorite vest(which is kind of a dark magenta I think), loose pants with a sash and a whole bunch of jewelry. She doesn't really wear makeup, but sometimes she'll wear a little bit of vitaar paint without the actual vitaar ingredients as decoration.

#herearedragons meta #ask game answers #oc: kyana amell #oc: neilar lavellan #oc: aqun adaar #oc: adina saar #Kyana's vigil's keep-era outfits have a very distinct aesthetic in my mind that I'm not sure I could explain or recreate

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purplefeathersandblackleather · 1 year

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Little Flower Girl

"Animals and children tell the truth, they never lie. Which one is more human? There's a thought, now you decide." - Animal Song (Savage Garden)

This one took me about an hour to do because I wanted to capture the essence of spring in Blossom's body since she changes with the seasons. With spring right around the corner, it was time to draw her pretty floral form with the light pink fur, deep magenta hollyhock flowers nestled in the bed of fluffy green moss. Her big pretty eyes and her long ears are alert as she perches herself on her favorite man human's shoulder and listens to him as he has a meeting with War Machine and Falcon. I hope you like in, sunshine! 💜

@harlekin6 @stewardofningishzida @icytrickster17 @strangelockd @sobeautifullyobsessed @cirocity @fanartka

#my art #my fanart #original character #blossom the bhlaiora #marvel #mcu #bucky barnes #gift for a friend

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harbingrs · 11 months

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Anytime I need to see your face I just close my eyes and I am taken to a place where your crystal mind and magenta feelings take up shelter in the base of my spine sweet like a chic-a-cherry cola

#posts #music #I was thoroughly obsessed with this song at 5 years old and it's still so good #fight me on it #I want you #savage garden #australian music #nostalgia trip #formative influences #Spotify

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greyinthecolorprism · 1 year

Text

Little Flower Girl

"Animals and children tell the truth, they never lie. Which one is more human? There's a thought, now you decide." - Animal Song (Savage Garden)

Part 1: Sketch I've had a mind to do this little lady for quite a while, but I never could bring myself to do it until this morning. Blossom - or Bo - is a creature of my own creation called a Bhláiora hailing from an original dimension of the Multiverse called the Polaris. When Damon met Harle, she inquired of his magical abilities and worlds outside of their own. So, he traveled to the dimension he had been studying in his free time and brought back this beautiful little girl. She now lives happily in the London Sanctum alongside of Alpine and Bats - when he visits - with Bucky and Harle as her caregivers. This one took me about an hour to do because I wanted to capture the essence of spring in Blossom's body since she changes with the seasons. With spring right around the corner, it was time to draw her pretty floral form with the light pink fur, deep magenta hollyhock flowers nestled in the bed of fluffy green moss. Her big pretty eyes and her long ears are alert as she perches herself on her favorite man human's shoulder and listens to him as he has a meeting with War Machine and Falcon. I hope you like in, sunshine! 💜

@harlekin6 @stewardofningishzida @icytrickster17 @strangelockd @sobeautifullyobsessed @cirocity @fanartka @paperclippedmime

#my art #my fanart #marvel #mcu #original characters #original creature #blossom the bhlaiora #bucky barnes #the winter soldier #friend art #gift art #Spotify

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hannahhook7744 · 2 years

Note

For the writing prompt:

(I know this isn't what you had in mind, but I thought of this and wanted to see what you would think and make of it?)

"Guess what, Dad," Rick Ratcliffe said. "There is no gold in Virginia!"

Trigger warning; Governor Ratcliffe being Governor Ratcliffe using of the word 'Savage ' to describe a group of Native American people, racism, and him just being am awful dad.

🦝🦝🦝🦝🦝🦝🦝🦝🦝🦝🦝🦝🦝🦝🦝🦝🦝🦝

Former Governor Ratcliffe was relaxing in his lazy chair, mourning his glory days when the front door slammed

"Guess what, Dad," his 20 year old mistake-- Rick Ratcliffe-- called out, sounding livid "There is no gold in Virginia!"

That caught the eccentric man's attention, causing him to turn towards the boy.

"What?"

"YOU HEARD ME!" The brat snapped angrily, glaring at him.

The young adult was tall and lean with a nose and black hair like his father's, though his was shorter and choppier and more animal like. His eyes were dark as coal like his father's too, though much kinder.

And that snarl on his face? It was definitely the same as his father's.

But his sense of style and morals? Well, that was all his.

He wore red ripped jeans with a baggy black leather jacket full of stick on magenta pins and a baggy blue tshirt with a red middle finger sewn poorly into it.

It was a look that often disappointed the former governor. Though not as much as his attitude.

"Don't take that tone with me, you little brat--" the man sneered, but for once, Rick didn't back down.

"You landed in Jamestown! Jamestown is in Virginia! There was and has never been any Gold in Virginia!"

"There is! Those SAVAGES are just hiding it to make me look bad!"

Rick was slowly turning red with rage and quickly grabbed one of his dad's glass dog figurines before throwing it at his head.

Ratcliffe ducked.

"Why you ungrateful little--"

"THIS ISN'T ABOUT YOU, YOU STUBBORN.. SELFISH... GREEDY... MONSTER!"

Rick threw another figurine, seething.

His whole life, he had been told there had been gold. And while he had never really thought that, that had been a good enough reason to explain away all the bad things his father said and continue to do, it had been an explanation.

A crappy explanation but still an explanation.

But now? To be told that his father had been lying about there having been Gold when he had to know that he had been fully in the wrong after all this time? It just broke something inside of him.

A dam that had been holding back all his anger and hatred towards his father.

A dam that had been holding back all his disgust and embarrassment and gulit towards what his father had done within when he was around the poor excuse for a man.

A dam that had stopped him from endangering himself like this.

And now that, that dam was gone, he was gonna say everything that had been on his mind since he was old enough to think.

"Do you have ANY IDEA, how MANY PEOPLE you hurt?! how many PEOPLE YOUR ACTIONS SCREWED OVER?!"

He grabbed another figurine.

"Those SAVAGES deserved it!" Ratcliffe said stubborn as always.

Rick saw red and took aim-- the figurine hit him hard in the head, shattering. Yet the man stayed conscious surprisingly.

"THEY'RE NOT SAVAGES! THEY'RE PEOPLE DAD!"

His eyes watered as Rick struggled to hold back tears. His skin was crawling and his heart felt like it was being gripped by something.

"They're people. Like you and me. And they were innocent. And because of you so many innocent lives were lost!" He pinched the bridge of his nose, breathing heavily.

"You always said that there was gold there. And while I never thought that, that excused what you did. At least it was a reason. A reason as to why you and Wiggins, and Pearcy and his pups, and me and Rory where stuck here. A reason as to why Thomas shot and killed a man, and was haunted by it despite not getting sent here. A reason for us to hate John and the others for not getting sent here like us" Rick knew he was probably trembling. But he didn't care.

Because for as long as he remembered, he had hated his father's men for not getting sent here like them. Had hated that Thomas killed a man and was real to live in Auardon, married to Nakoma while he and his brother and the pups were forced to suffer.

He had never hated the Natives for what his father did. How could he? He knew that stealing and attacking people for not wanting to help you was wrong. And that was what his father had been trying to do, along with much worse if the way he spoke about those poor people was anything to go by.

But he had hated his father's men for not having to be stuck here like him when, according to his father, they had attacked the Natives for the Gold too.

But now? Now he just felt sick.

Because according to the teacher at school, there was no gold. And the ones of his father's voyage who weren't on the isle had made up for their crimes.

Which meant that he had been hating people who, like him, had realized his father was an awful person and that they didn't want to stand with him.

Which practically made him no better than his father.

"But you lied. Because there is no way that you didn't know by now that there wasn't any gold and that even if there was you were still in the wrong. So you lied to us. To Rory and me. And made us hate people who at least admitted and made up for what they did unlike you and the other sorry excuses for men on this Island! You made us hate people who told the truth when you went and lied to the king and tons of other settlers about what went down, which lead to millions of innocent people getting killed! MILLIONS DAD!"

Rick ran his hand throw his hair.

Hoping naively that his father would see the errors of his ways and go begging for forgiveness.

But that's not what happened.

"Who cares?"

Rick's blood ran cold.

His stomach lurched.

"What do you mean who cares?!" He asked faintly, praying that he hadn't heard his father right.

But he had.

"Exactly that. Who cares?"

Rick lost it.

"ME! RORY! AMD ANY OTHER FRICKING DECENT HUMAN BEING, THAT'S WHO! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!"

Ratcliffe just stared at him coldly. As if he was the one in the wrong.

Rick took a step back. And another. Feeling sick.

"You're a monster. A monster. And you're never going to see me Or Rory or the dogs again!" And with that, Rick ran. As far away as his legs could carry him before he lost his lunch. Never to see his father again.

🦝🦝🦝🦝🦝🦝🦝🦝🦝🦝🦝🦝🦝🦝🦝🦝🦝🦝

Author's note: I hope that I wrote this as sensitively as possible and that the trigger warnings fit.

I didn't mention Pocahontas because I thought that might be insensitive and I don't plan on using her in any of my writings when it comes to the characters from thay movie.

And also, I do not condone anything Governer Ratcliffe said in this because he is a horrible person in any media and writing him made me feel physically ill. Just like he makes anyone, especially his son, feel when he opens that stupid mouth of his.

Hope this fic was what ya were looking for my friend.

#descendants #disney descendants #melissa de la cruz #pocahontas #rick ratcliffe is a better man than his father #governer ratcliffe makes me sick to my stomach to write and i hope he is suffering on the isle #seriously screw that man #thomas pocahontas #nakoma pocahontas #thomas x nakoma #somebody please throw governor ratcliffe where he belongs and save his kids and dogs #rick ratcliffe #this was requested #racism

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